Never Say Never
by LostInLost18
Summary: Ana/Boone. It's a love story of the strangest kind. He's used to keeping sarcastic, bitter women in check, not dating them, and she's used to being schmoozed up by young, naive guys in bars, not falling for them. Can these two make things work?
1. Prologue: Scarlet Heavens

_Never Say Never  
A Boone and Ana Fic _

Prologue:  
Scarlet Heavens 

It was twilight, a mystical hour for some; for others, it was just the end of another laborious day and the beginning of the night.

Ana flickered through some paperwork, mostly out of boredom. She wasn't a workaholic, but she found a strange kind of comfort in staying in the office long after everyone else had left. Sure, the office bored her, and she much preferred being out on the street than doing paperwork, but she didn't want to go back to her hovel of a flat, of a life even.

She was flicking through files of people who'd recently been incarcerated, mostly as a means of a catch up because she'd just returned from Sydney, following a lead on what had been the most high profile case of her career. She wouldn't admit it to anyone - especially since she generally didn't admit to feeling anything other than negativity - but she'd been quite pleased her mother had put her up to the task. It wasn't often her mother gave her tasks which went above and beyond what she was capable of, but she took full advantage of those moments if and when they arrived.

Right now, she was looking at the profile of one Charles Hieronymous Pace who, weirdly enough, had been on her flight. She tilted her head to one side as she read the charges, wondering how a drug addict had escaped her peripheral vision. There were telltale signs you could spot from a mile off - the inexplicable shaking, the endless fidgeting, the snappish tone to their voice as evidence for otherwise unnoticeable agitation…

But, then again, she had been stuck at the back of the bloody plane, in a place where the wheels came down.

Ana sighed, tossing the paperwork aside as she wheeled about in her chair. She spun it around once, twice, out of boredom, her dark eyes always on the clock. It was only eight, which wasn't really that late, and there were some officers still around; there had to be, by law. She wasn't completely on her own - which sort of negated the point of her being here really. She thrived on solitude, preferring deserted spaces to places where crowds dwelt.

In a strange way, being an isolated person was both her blessing and her curse.

Sighing loudly again, Ana picked up the keys and decided to do what she always did when completely and utterly bored - go to the bar. There was a bar she knew, opposite her flat, but she had been barred from it, only because she'd become extraordinarily opinionated - well, more so than usual - in regards to the new barmaid they'd hired, nearly reducing the new girl to tears.

Ana half smiled - if you could even call the miniscule twist to her lips a half smile. That had been a good night, only because she'd been utterly frustrated at a fellow officer's promotion. The fact her career was echoing her life, in terms of the fact she was going nowhere in each, had caused her mood to reach critical on the terror radar, eventually resulting in her lashing out on the first poor person who'd looked at her the wrong way.

But, then again, wasn't that her life story? Lashing out against people who, in hindsight, probably didn't deserve to be on the back end of her temper?

She preferred not to overanalyse her life; it was crap and that was all there was to it.

She locked up, nodding briefly to the security team as she left the premises. There was something in the air that night she couldn't quite understand. She'd turned down an offer to go this concert thing, which was supposedly happening tonight, not so much for the entertainment but in case things got, in Theresa's words not hers, "rowdy." It was just standard police procedure really.

Yet, all the same, she vaguely regretted not going, as if there was something particularly special about this concert.

Ana shook her head, mostly to clear her head of these uncharacteristically pensive thoughts she was experiencing. She released her bun, allowing her dark curls to spill down her face. She'd realised as of late she was vaguely pretty and, if she'd been one of those girls who'd cared, she could've acquired numerous boyfriends.

But she hadn't; and up until tonight, the reason for her solitude had been purely down to a matter of principle and the fact she generally hated men.

Tonight, however, she felt like there was another reason for her hesitancy to enter a relationship, a more significant one other than the fact she felt like men were arrogant pricks who deserved to die.

She wasn't quite sure, however, and that's what she hated even more than men and working alongside her mother - uncertainty.

Ana rolled her eyes at her own behaviour; she was dying for that drink now, if only to clear her own mind. Lately, it seemed to be like a dog you'd been given to look after by a friend - something unfamiliar which didn't seem to know any boundaries, any rules, which your life may have, up until that point, had. She wished her life had some sort of meaning sometimes; she felt like a train some days, always making the same stops, always completing the same routines, amongst dull and frankly unattractive - in the mental sense, not the physical - people.

"Excuse me," someone called.

She ignored the voice; usually one only had to look at the permanent scowl on her face and they would back off. This was either a drunk, an insane person, or someone who clearly had no boundaries when it came to mortal peril.

"Excuse me? Miss?"

The voice was persistent, meaning she had to engage with another person. What effort.

"Yes? Can I help you?" she snapped, whirling around.

She was startled to see someone with a mop of auburn hair and a baby face, sporting a leather jacket and dark jeans. He seemed to be sending out two conflicting messages with what he was wearing against what he looked like. His youngish face, with sincere, rich eyes and a vulnerable twist to his smile, gave her the impression he was innocent, definitely a stranger to the rough parts of L.A. His clothes, on the other hand, gave her almost the opposite view. She had no idea what to think.

What threw her even more was there was a familiarity about him which she couldn't quite place. Had she arrested him at any point? No, that would've been stupid - anyone she arrested wouldn't have wanted to run into her again at any point. Had she met him at a bar then? She hadn't slept with him, had she? Many times had she woken up in a stranger's bed, purely because of alcohol and not because she had been remotely attracted to them.

"I noticed you're a cop," the man said, noting her uniform. "There's a guy who was treating my step sister roughly earlier and, when I intervened, he got violent. This Arab guy stepped in and knocked him out. He's still in the alley."

He pointed to where he meant, and that's when Ana became suspicious.

She'd heard many stories of innocent - but stupid - girls being lured into alleyways and assaulted in ways which had often given her nightmares. Sure, no one had used the 'there's an unconscious guy in the alley' line, but times were changing. Lines which had worked before were becoming obsolete; and, even though she had the power to arrest him, there was a part of her which was frozen to the spot with fear.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said in exasperation, when he realised she had no intention of talking or moving any time soon. "And, if I did, you'd just arrest me afterwards, so it would be pointless."

"Ok…" Ana glared at him. "Lead the way, then."

He scrutinised her carefully, and she could almost detect some sort of bewilderness in his eyes, as if he was immensely confused by something. Not that she cared. She just wanted to head to the bar and forget everything, same as always.

"What's your name?" she enquired. "Why are you out here?"

"I'm Boone Carlyle," he stated, still staring at her. "I was out here trying to keep my step-sister safe. Her name is Shannon Rutherford. She falls for the…wrong type of bloke, let's say. I was out here tonight trying to persuade her to break it off with him when he overheard and started beating me to a pulp. Hence this." He pointed to his face and, as he walked underneath a lamppost, she almost gasped as she saw the various cuts and bruises on his face.

"That's the price I paid for babysitting her," he added bitterly. "And then this Arab swarms in, all noble and heroic, and suddenly she's kissing him, like she knows him." He rolled his eyes. "Stupid little slut. I'm done with her."

Ana raised a curious eyebrow in his direction. If this was still a ploy to get her in the alley, well, the guy was a half decent actor, she'd give him that. He certainly looked like the guy whose sister would screw over time and time again.

She walked to the alley and saw he wasn't lying. She saw the still figure of a man who, judging by the size of him, looked like he was all brawn and no brains. Whoever had knocked him out had obviously done a thorough job - the man looked like he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon.

"He should be taken to hospital," she noted calmly.

"Hospital?" Boone spluttered. "He should be thrown into jail! He was beating my sister, I'm sure of it."

"Unless your sister is lurking here and prepared to give a statement, it's unlikely anything will be done about that anytime soon," Ana stated coolly. "So, unless you've got proof…"

"Proof!" Boone threw his hands up in the air. "Does no one take me seriously? Can you at least, I dunno, put him in a cell or something? Just so I can find my sister and bring her back to give evidence?"

Ana chewed her lip, feeling an unexpected surge of sympathy for the man. She knew what it was like to want justice when a crime had been committed. She had scars along her stomach which served as a constant reminder of the crime she'd been through, although she'd managed to deal with it quite satisfactorily.

"I don't have the keys to the cells," she confessed. "I only have the keys to the office, so whatever you want me to do with him, it's gonna have to wait til morning."

Boone snorted, as if he'd expected this lack of co-operation. She felt for the guy, she really did, but she didn't really have the time or the energy to deal with matters which, in reality, shouldn't have been her problem.

She could've just walked on, ignored him, but she felt drawn here somehow. Even though she was pretty sure she hadn't seen him before in her life, Boone's face seemed to have a touch of the familiar about it. But, then again, she knew his type - the whiny, almost pathetic type of men who were needy and clingy, which verified the fact she was definitely sure he wasn't her type.

"It's not my call to make." She felt the need to justify what she was doing, which was a first. "All I see here is an unconscious man who looks like he needs hospital treatment. There's nothing more I can do."

She turned to leave, when a rough hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. She started to push him off, fed up of being treated like crap, when something strange came over which made her freeze. The world around her seemed to disappear, and she could see an entire new world before her eyes.

A series of flashes emerged before her eyes, each flash containing a different image, a different setting, a different piece of that world. She saw plane crashes and islands, Dharma stations and the open sea; she saw faces of people she liked and people she didn't; she felt her heart almost stutter into life as she remembered falling in love and falling apart again. It all was there, spread out before her like a broadsheet newspaper.

A few faces stood out from the crowd; there was a tall, Nigerian priest, whose arms locked around her as she broke down; there was a tallish doctor man, with kind eyes and stubble, who comforted her when she was alone; there was a long haired, gritty southerner, whose eyes were as hard as the words which came out of his mouth.

And then there was Boone, the youthful, bright eyed young man who had followed her around like a lost puppy, driving her crazy until she'd eventually succumbed to his charm. She saw his smile, heard his laugh, remembered what his kiss felt like, and remembering all of it made her eyes widen and her jaw slack.

"Ana?"

She turned to face him, noticing he was wearing a similar expression on his face. His eyes were wide and he seemed to be at a loss of words. He stepped forwards, out of some sort of determination to reach out to her, and she found she didn't want to stop him. Every nerve in her body warned her against doing this, because she was currently living a happy - well, that may have been a bit of a stretch - life as a single, free, independent woman.

"Boone?" she asked incredulously. "Is…Is that you, man?"

He smiled at her; it would've made her melt, but she remembered the bad along with the good. She remembered how they used to fight about anything and everything; she remembered how angry he used to make her, mostly because of his naïveté, and how she would often do stupid things as a result of their fights. And she remembered him leaving her, above everything else. It might not have been his fault, but he had. And she couldn't forget that.

She stepped forward, observing him quietly, her face expressionless. She took in the familiar crinkle around his eyes, the twist to his smile which made it look crooked, the slight sparkle to his eyes which she could never understand, and, above all else, the way he seemed to look at her like there was no one else in the world but her.

With him, it looked cute; for anyone else, it was just creepy and unnecessary.

"It's me," he said, grinning widely.

"Good," she murmured, mostly to herself.

And with that, she stepped forward, raising a hand to level with his cheek, as if she was going for a gentle caress. If only she was a woman like that.

Instead, she raised her hand and slapped him hard. He reeled back and she panted slightly, glaring at him with dark eyes filled with venom.

"What was that for?" he yelped, clutching his cheek.

"For leaving me you twerp!" she snapped. "And there's plenty more where that came from."

He stared at her, clearly torn between amusement and bewilderment . Rubbing his cheek, he took this moment to study her. She hadn't really changed, except she was infinitesimally nicer than he remembered. The Ana he'd known wouldn't have even stopped to help, preferring to carry on walking rather than conversing with a stranger. But, physically, she looked the same; dark, wavy hair, eyes filled with pain even when she was smiling, olive tanned skin… He could pick her out of a crowd if he'd the mind to.

"You haven't changed, have you?" Boone asked, fighting the urge to smile. "You're still the same psychopathic, bitter woman I crashed on an island with."

She folded her arms, still expressionless.

"And you're the same gullible, naïve, sometimes insensitive twerp I somehow ended up with," she retorted.

"But would you have me any other way?" he asked, moving towards her.

Her face visibly softened. "No."

Boone was now dangerously close to her, so close in fact that she could count his eyelashes. She felt his hot breath against her skin and realised she hadn't seen him like this in such a long time. This reunion could've gone a million other ways, and she was perhaps the only woman who would slap someone she'd missed. She often wondered how she'd ever found the strength to fall in love again. After all, it took a lot of strength to allow yourself to fall for someone, and she never thought it would've been for someone like him.

She was gradually learning, however, you could never say never to love. It came, it engulfed lives, it changed worlds, and it left again.

And, as she reluctantly allowed his lips to meet with hers, she felt a sudden change come over her. The bitterness didn't quite leave her so much as being drained from her body, leaving room for happiness and joy to fill her body. She had a shot at happiness now, though she remembered quite clearly the days when that hadn't been the case.

All she knew was that she was ready to leave with Boone.

She was ready to move on.

A/n: Ok, this is a strange story for two reasons - 1) It's Ana and Boone, who never met, so you'll have to forgive some dramatic storyline changes. Boone doesn't die, obviously, but not sure when to really set it. Take it that Boone was around for the raft setting off. Also, I am aware I changed things during the finale. Boone doesn't remember until he touches Ana, so all the events preceding that are purely circumstantial. 2) It starts at the end, which is a weird place to start but it felt right for the story. The next chapter will detail how they meet, so hope you like**!**


	2. Chapter 1: Fiery Futures

Chapter 1:  
Fiery Futures

She perused the horizon, her entire brow literally hovering over her eyes as she narrowed her vision so that it could scan the area quickly and efficiently. In all honestly, she hated all of this walking around, trying to find somewhere safe enough which would last them the night. But then again she'd learned that what was necessary wasn't always what you'd call a 'popular choice.'

"Ana?" Libby's voice, deliberately low to keep the conversation private, caught her attention. "Are we safe?"

Ah, the million dollar question.

The Latina licked her lips, feeling the midday heart peruse her skin. She ached for water but they'd not come across another stream like they had the night before. What little they kept on their person was to be saved until absolutely necessary. She eyed the bottle strapped to her thigh anyway, before turning her attention to Libby.

"Looks like it," she murmured back. Then, in a louder tone, "This is it, guys. We'll make camp here."

There was a scatter of general agreement, although she noticed a few still looked uneasy, as if they didn't entirely trust her judgement, before there was the sound of backpacks and rucksacks being flung to the ground, followed by the weary sighs of the survivors themselves. Mr Eko cast the group a dark look before disappearing into the jungle, presumably to look for food, as he had done for the past few weeks, merely to avoid contact and the pity stares. Ana could sympathise with him there, if sympathy even existed between her bones.

She sauntered over to the ocean, dipping her sore feet into the frothy tip of the waves. A loud sigh escaped her lips. This was the relief she'd been waiting for. She cupped her hands, scooped up some of the sea water and splashed it across her face, taking care to close her mouth and her eyes.

Ana glanced briefly at her reflection in the water, despising the figure she saw. Her face looked stretched too tight, like butter over too much bread, and she felt like one of the living dead - lifeless, emotionless, dead. It wasn't that it took too much effort to do things these days - rather, it took too little. Every gesture, every move she made was too easy, too simple. There was no challenge in life anymore.

She noticed she wasn't alone when her reflection gained a new companion.

"Hey," she greeted Libby. "You should get some rest."

"You look dead on your feet," Libby scolded. "You should get some rest. You're no good to us half dead."

Ana chuckled mirthlessly.

"Maybe that's not the problem," she replied dryly. "Maybe the problem is I'm half alive."

She splashed some more water across her face, shuddering at the sting as the salt from the ocean touched her various facial calamites.

"I'm worried about you, Ana," Libby commented, her face reflecting her sincerity at that statement. "We all are. We get you're exhausted - we all are - but you just look…like you don't care anymore."

Ana mused over that statement darkly, knowing it was true. What did she honestly have left in this dark, cruel, twisted world that she could profess to care about? Her mother, maybe, but that was the only exception. Every aspect of her life had always turned on her to bite her in the ass at some point, and she'd found the less you cared about, the less you had to lose in the long run. Wasn't that so much easier than hanging on to something which you were only going to hurt over?

"Get some rest," was her eventual comment. "I'll take the first watch."

She watched as Libby fought back a response, before giving up and returning to what was left of the survivors. She then rose to her feet, her heart and head barking different instructions to her, before grabbing her water back, gulping down the liquid, then plunging into the jungle to search for some more. They'd crossed a point before, she was sure, where the sounds of running water had been nearby.

As the Latina walked, she took a branch from the ground and started slashing at the nearby fauna, each slash becoming progressively more violent. She wasn't that bad, however, that she was reduced to self-pity, oh no. She was stronger than that.

She briefly regretted not telling anyone where she'd gone. It probably wasn't wise, given the circumstances, but she'd proven her trustworthiness to the group and, hell, she didn't care even if they did think she was up to no good. She could hold her own ground, and other people's as well.

After ten minutes solid walking, she came across a little, secluded spot, with a stream running right through it. Sighing with relief, she made her way over to it, tossing her bag to the one side, and filled her bottle with the precious liquid, subsequently gulping it down, before refilling it. She attached the bottle back to her thigh, then sat down, releasing her hair so that it swarmed around her, like a gathering of hair. She stared moodily at the ground, briefly curious about the sudden burst of emotion which had gathered inside her.

Pretty soon, the mood staring became sniffling. The urge to cry became stronger and stronger, until she felt the damn tears start to crawl down her cheeks. She wiped them away fiercely but more came.

_Just be miserable, _her heart commanded.

_But - _She started to protest.

_But nothing! You've more than earned the right to cry. Go on. Let it all out._

And so she did.

She almost enjoyed being utterly miserable; with her guard dropped a little, she could almost engage with herself again.

With her head dropped, she reminded herself of that little dark haired girl sitting on the steps of her house, all the tears drained from her body after watching her daddy leave forever.

So much had changed from that moment. So many regrets, so much pain.

It didn't even matter so much that Eko ruined the moment. She'd proven a point to herself : she could still cry, she could still feel, so she wasn't completely devoid of all emotion. She might've played the tough card one hand too many, but it didn't mean she didn't spot the distrustful looks the others gave her when they thought she wasn't looking. No…distrustful was the wrong word; they trusted her just fine. It was closer to dislike, if anything else.

Dislike which, if anything, seemed to be growing stronger every day.

* * *

When the first pearls of darkness started to appear, people began to work together to build a fire. At first, Ana had objected, using the Others as the strongest instrument in her argument. But it grew colder and colder, until she'd had to bark out the command to build a fire, if not to stop their moaning then because the cold was making her even more irritable.

Ana stared moodily into the fire, occasionally poking it when it seemed like it was dying on her.

"_You need a good man, Ana," _her mother had informed her once. _"Having a man would help you loosen up a bit and, here's a thought, might get you to smile a bit more." _

She'd laughed harshly at that idea, dismissing it as quickly as it had been delivered to her. Men were all the same: they were heartless, heartbreaking, arrogant, self-centred brutes. Sure, you had the odd one who went against the grain, but even they ended up slipping through your fingers. No, it was better to be alone than to go out searching for heartbreak in human flesh.

Her gaze turned to the others, who were all sitting around a second fire, a fire which looked a lot more alive than hers. They were chatting and laughing, completely oblivious to her. She didn't blame them for staying away - she preferred the silence to the sounds of merriment which, even to her own ears, sounded stretched, and false, used only as a means of escapism.

The fire hissed and died in front of her eyes. She let it. Her eyes watched the last of the sparks fall onto the sand around her, all the while trying not to think about all the ways her own life reflected the life of that fire's…

* * *

"I don't know, John," Boone admitted, examining the plane carefully. "I don't like the look of it. If I go up…" He didn't finish the sentence.

"But all roads lead here. We've been led here for a reason and I'm sure the reason for us coming out here lies inside that plane. I'm sure of it!" Locke exclaimed, looking excited.

He noticed Boone's uncertain look and restrained the urge to roll his eyes at the boy's naïveté.

"Look, I'll do it if you want," he said, ignoring the fact his legs were currently failing him. "If you just prop me up, I think I can climb up there just with my arms…"

"No," Boone cut him off firmly. "You don't know when enough's enough, John. Look, I'll go up there and do it myself, but at least let's get you back to camp first. This plane isn't going anywhere and I for one would feel a lot better if I went up there with someone who could carry me back on good strong legs if the worst should happen."

Locke had to concede that the boy had a point, although he had to wonder just where Boone was getting his survival one-oh-one tips from. Although he hated to admit defeat - more so than anyone would ever know - he also knew when to draw the line and pack up the expedition, if only for now. He could look at the bright side, anyway: they had more time to get back, get prepared, and get more equipment for dealing with the next step, if there even was one.

"Fair enough," he agreed. "Let's go back."

Boone sighed with relief, feeling, for some strange reason, that that plane could've been the death of him. Although, to be honest, coming out here with Locke meant a break from all the questions, all the accusatory stares he'd been getting lately. Since most of the camp were intimidated by Locke, they directed their questions and/or accusations at him. But, he supposed, actually being useful trumped all of that. Being with Locke, out here in the jungle, was actually an exciting experience, albeit a frustrating one since the man seemed to talk of nothing else but fate and dreams and all that nonsense he'd put to bed years ago. Still, it was a refreshing step up from hearing Shannon bitch and moan about every other thing.

All the same, he thought to himself, it couldn't hurt to find another companion to have on the island. Just for those gaps when he wasn't off in the jungle with Locke.

* * *

They managed to sneak back into camp, luckily in the midst of a furore.

"What have I missed?" he asked, aiming the question at the nearest person which, unfortunately, happened to be Charlie.

There rested an uneasy tension between him and Charlie. He couldn't explain it. In part, he blamed it on the events on day six, when he'd foolishly tried to take over Jack's role, doing it all wrong of course, and risked Claire's life in the balance. Judging by the relationship between Charlie and Claire these days, it was understandable why there was more tension on his side of things.

"The usual," Charlie replied, barely glancing at him. "Egos get inflated; remarks are exchanged; fists connect with flesh…"

"Who?" was Boone's burning question, eager to be kept in the loop.

"I was just kidding about the fight," Charlie rectified. "No - Jin and Michael are just bickering like an old married couple about the raft. I brought Claire along so she could get out of the caves but she seems to have wandered off…" His eyes searched for her as he spoke, as though he'd only just realized that fact. "A few of us were just…watching the raft being built."

Boone nodded politely, then wandered off, briefly speculating over Claire's disappearance and whether he should raise any alarm bells. He looked at the raft with mild appreciation, still inwardly doubting it would ever work. However, he didn't want to break morale, not when it was the highest it had ever been, and he smiled at a few faces in the crowd, inadvertently trying to remind people he was still here.

"Boone!" a familiar voice growled.

_Oh, no…here it comes, _he thought glumly.

Shannon stormed towards him, her eyes ablaze with anger. As sick as it made him, he couldn't help but notice with mild appreciation that her skin had tanned ever so slightly, giving her this incredible glow no sun could compete with. He shook his head after a few moments of awkward staring, gently reminding himself his feelings for her had to be put away for good.

Maybe he just needed new competition, someone to remind him - and her - that the world didn't revolve around Shannon, as much as she probably wanted it to. But who was there? Kate? If she wasn't wrapped around Jack, she was anywhere near Sawyer. Claire was taken by Charlie; even if they weren't in that sort of relationship, he still remembered what it was like to cross that line when it came to her. Sun was married…No, there really were slim pickings when it came to women in this camp.

At best, he could hope that some exotic, fierce blooded woman parachuted in from somewhere. At worst, he could keep on dreaming.

But now, back to Shannon…

"Where have you been?" Shannon demanded, jabbing an accusatory finger against his chest. "I've barely seen you…"

"Aw, did you miss me?" he couldn't help mocking.

She glared at him, unimpressed.

"Since when did you grow a backbone?" she mocked back. "You call ME useless but what have YOU been doing? Certainly not getting us food, or being of any help whatsoever! You can't blame it on searching for Miss Pregnant 2004, pal! She's been found. You've got no damsel left to pretend to want to help, when really you just want to get away from me!"

"Do you hear yourself, Shan?" Boone demanded, feeling his cheeks burn with irritation. "Can you not be a bitch for, like, five minutes of your life? Get off my back, ok? What me and John have been doing - ?"

"John?" Shannon sniped. "Oh, so you're on first name terms are you?"

"We've been scouring the land," he lied, glaring at her. "Exploring. Trying to see if we can find any new areas of food, or areas where the boars might've migrated to. There? Are you satisfied?"

As much as he hated her, sometimes, he couldn't help but be mildly impressed - and turned on - by how fierce she could get. He often preferred this Shannon to the one who just sat around, complaining and bitching all the time like she had nothing better to do. At least this Shannon had some fight in her, some spark, which wasn't making it any easier, by the by, to forget about her.

"Not really." Shannon glared at him. "You missed helping building the raft."

"Which I suppose you were at the centre of," he scoffed, looking scornful. "Don't criticize me, Shan, on being useless when you know you're the same. Only you're worse. At least I TRY to make myself useful. All you do is bat your eyes at the first guy who is unlucky enough to cross your path and you've got everything you could ever possibly want!"

Now, he'd made her mad.

Shannon stepped forward and shoved him.

"Screw you," she snarled, enunciating her words carefully. "Sayid's a good guy. Whatever problems you have with me, leave him out of it."

And, in typical diva Shannon fashion, she stormed off.

Boone scowled at her retreating figure, before storming off himself, fed up with her, fed up with women in general. He sat down by the ocean, staring moodily into its depths. It was typical that even here, in the shadow of the site of a plane crash, he didn't fit in. His mother, with cold and silky words as frosty as snow, had often assured him he was perfect the way he was, but he'd never bought into her words. Her business ventures were many, and she'd hardly been a part of his childhood, if he was brutally, brutally, honest.

He listened to the various drifting ends of conversations and realized they would be close to finishing the raft. An idea crafted itself inside his mind: if they were going to launch the raft, why not be one of the ones on it? In terms of playing a part, it was probably the biggest part anyone could play at this precise moment, the part of getting everyone rescued. A warm feeling came over him as he pictured Shannon's face if he was part of the team who had gotten everyone rescued…

As quickly as he'd sat down, Boone rose to his feet, realizing he had some bargaining, and possibly some grovelling, to do…

* * *

"Absolutely not."

Boone remained unsurprised, realizing it wasn't exactly an unexpected answer to receive, especially from someone he'd barely conversed with since the crash.

"Why?" he asked.

Michael grunted as he lifted up a piece of bamboo which was going into the construction of the mast. Jin was nearby, barking instructions at him in Korean and looking noticeably agitated.

"Look, man, I appreciate the help," Michael panted, jumping down. "But I've got all the people I want. I agreed to take four. Me and Walt are going - that's final - and Jin and Sawyer have more than earned their ticket on board."

"Sawyer?" Boone couldn't hide his disdain for the man. "That's who you're taking out to sea with you…Sawyer? Look, man, I just want to help."

"That's fair enough, but I can't just let you on. What's to stop other people clambering for a place if I let you on?" Michael pointed out. "Yes, yes, I get it," he added irritably, directing this part to Jin. "Gotta quit yappin'."

"I'm not saying you have to kick anyone else off," Boone said, his tone persuasive. "I just - I'm fed up of not contributing anything, y'know? Jack saved my life - Hell, almost everyone had a part in saving me. I wanna give something back."

Michael's initial look of doubt had subsided to a look of pity. He didn't dislike the man, but he just didn't see what he could bring to the trip other than hours upon hours of moaning about his sister.

"What can you bring though? Do you know anything about surviving at sea?" he questioned.

"Thirteen summers of fishing with my grandpa," Boone replied quickly. "I attended a basic survival training…thing." _And failed to finish, _he silently added. "I have training and a licence as a lifeguard…"

"Alright, alright, you're on board," Michael said, looking impatient to move on. "But we're not leaving for a few days."

Boone nodded gratefully, sauntering off and feeling mightily pleased with himself.

Finally, things were looking up.

**A/n: Thanks for the reviews so far! I really like this story and so am continuing it no matter what. I'm not one of those who are overly obsesses with getting reviews lol. I take what I get. Next chapter - the raft takes off. Will Boone be on board or not? **


	3. Chapter 2: Pretentious Pasts

Chapter 2:

Pretentious Pasts

* * *

Boone started to pack his bag, quite excited by the prospect of leaving the island, if only to get help. A part of him felt bad for leaving Shannon behind; until she just happened to saunter past with Sayid, wearing the world's biggest smirk, and then the guilt just magically seemed to disappear from his body. His hands clenched around his bag, irritating temporarily blocking up his throat.

"S'what's ya game?" a familiar voice drawled.

He blinked, as the sunlight suddenly became blocked by a towering figure. It wasn't really hard to figure out who it was; if the drawl and the sarcasm weren't clues, then the accent and the bandage on the arm (from his and Sayid's scuffle) were the giveaway clues as to who it was who happened to be blocking the sunlight.

"Excuse me?" he demanded.

"Boss informs me we got a fifth member on board our humble little raft," Sawyer drawled, smirking at him, barely concealing his disdain for the idea. "So had to come over an' ask…what's ya game?"

"I could ask you the same question," Boone retorted. "I have no game. Not all of us play dirty like you, Sawyer."

He continued stuffing clothes into his bag, noticing that Sawyer was appraising him, probably trying to fathom why he wanted to come in the first place. Boone still felt cold towards Sawyer, not just because he'd beat him up for trying to save Shannon but because the selfish bastard had actually pretended to have Shannon's inhalers just to score a kiss. It was taking all his energy not to pummel the bastard right here and now.

"You seriously sayin' you jus' decided to hop on board 'cause you were lookin' for summit to do?" Sawyer questioned. "Even for you, Sad Sack, that's pathetic. I've seen more convincing sob stories on American Idol."

"You actually watched that crap when it was on?" Boone smirked.

"I had slim pickings, alrigh'?" Sawyer snapped. "Least it ain't as pathetic as tryin' to stowaway on a raft jus' to make friends."

Boone growled underneath his breath, but otherwise gave no sign that he'd heard the conman's less-than-kind comments. He was used to them by now, if he was honest, and he'd heard better insults in the playground. Not that he was going to tell him that. No, his face probably didn't need the extra cuts and bruises.

"You got anything kind to say, Sawyer?" he asked wearily. "If you don't, I suggest you leave."

"Whatcha gonna do? Set the Munchkin on me?" Sawyer scoffed. "Face it, boy - you ain't got the hard fists to back ya self up. An' unless ya want an unpleasant trip at sea, I suggest you be a little nicer to me."

He went away laughing, as if he'd just told the funniest joke in history. Boone scowled at his back, wishing he had the guts to actually just fight back. But, as much as he hated to admit it - and he did- Sawyer had a point. Why antagonise the person he was going to spend (he was guessing) a lot of time with? It just wasn't worth it.

Boone sighed, and carried on packing. He smiled as he saw his favourite blue shirt in the mix and remembered who'd bought it for him.

"_I don't know anything about fashion for men," Shannon complained. "But your kind have the same blah kind of stuff, no variety, so I just picked this."_

_She handed him the shirt like it was some kind of insect. He had to smile at how she'd referred to men as 'your kind', like they were wild animals or something. Men weren't the ones who could go completely ape over a sale in a shop, or turn into mindless zombies at the mere sight of a wedding dress, nor were they the ones who turned into beasts once a moment, snarling at anything and everything that irritated them even the slightest bits. No, men looked positively sane in comparison to women._

"_You didn't wrap it up?" he teased. "No wrapping paper at all?"_

"_We're not twelve anymore, Boone," Shannon reminded him. "And this was last minute. Like literally. Do you know how many hours I wasted trying to find this friggin' shirt for you? BORING!"_

_Rather than allowing her to continue with her rant, he took the shirt off her and smiled gently at her. At least she'd actually remembered, this time, rather than just sending him a card two weeks later, with a design which looked like a two year old had picked it out at random. _

"_Cheers, Shan. It's lovely…honest." _

_The stupid, goofy smile he could feel emerging on his face was the first clue that he had feelings for her, not to mention the fact when he'd pulled her in for a birthday hug and kiss, his lips had lingered on her face for too long; all the while his eyes had been on her lips, and maybe she'd sensed the hungry look in his eyes, because she pulled away not long afterwards. He could smell her perfume, feel her earrings trail across his skin ever so tauntingly; it was like she knew the effect she had on him and was cruelly playing with him. Well, it was Shannon; he wouldn't have put it past her to play dirty._

"_Whatever," she replied, tossing her hair. "We're even now, right?"_

_He knew technically speaking that wasn't true. As long as he loved her, they would never be even. The amount of things he did for bordered on sheer stupidity, like bribing people to offer her jobs - which she always declined - or secretly slipping her money in her back account - he'd memorised her details, but never used them for anything other than helping her out - every other month. He wondered whether she knew it was him that was feeding her the money; somehow she'd not looked convinced when he'd suggested maybe she was receiving monthly interest or something. But if she said anything, she never mentioned it. _

"_Yeah, sure," he said, smiling, putting a brave face on like always. "We're even."_

He shook his head, determined to put Shannon out of his head.

He searched around, looking for his second bag which had some other knick knacks he wanted to take for the journey, if Michael actually permitted it, that was. Failing to spot it, he decided it was back at the caves.

It was fairly hot, even though the day was drawing to a close. Everyone was still around the raft, each individual pitching in, the prospect of getting rescue being everyone's motivation. Kate and Jack had been delegating roles to whoever would listen, followed by Michael's lead, and everyone, barring an extremely sarcastic Sawyer, had followed their instruction, relieved to have some kind of order, some kind of routine, to their world again.

He took advantage of everyone's preoccupied state of mind and walked into the jungle with the intent of getting to the caves. He felt nervous going off without Locke by his side but the man was otherwise engaged. Besides, it was nice to enjoy the rest of the day in peace and silence…

…silence which was effectively broken by the sounds of heavy breathing and quiet sobs of what sounded like pain.

He quickened his pace, becoming slightly worried. He burst through the clearing and saw a startled Claire, clutching her stomach and looking extremely sweaty, her entire face scrunched up in pain.

"Claire?" he asked cautiously. "Are you ok?"

"Yes," she panted, giving him a brave attempt at a smile, though it clearly hurt for her to do so. "I'm fine…Ooh! Ooh!"

She doubled over in pain, the sweat now running off her face and down her clothes. He might not have been Jack but that didn't mean he didn't recognize the signs of labour when he saw them. His first instinct was to panic and run away. For any male not involved with the labour process, it was basic, almost primal, instinct to make some kind of mewling sound and scarper off in the opposite direction, but instead he settled for stating the obvious like an utter moron.

"Oh my - !" He couldn't speak. "You're in labour!"

"No, I'm not," Claire insisted. "It's stomach cramps. Gotta be. I can't be in labour. Not now."

"Oh but you are," Boone said, clearly panicking. "Wait there, I'm getting help."

He proceeded to flee in the direct he'd just come from, hoping against hope he could find someone along the way. He tripped up several times, letting loose a stream of profanities that would have even Shannon blushing. His cheek scraped against a branch along the way, causing it to bleed, yet even that didn't stop him. The desire to be useful took over.

Luckily, fate seemed to be on his side. As it happened, he came across a very worried looking Charlie, who was stumbling around shouting Claire's name. In that moment, Boone felt like he could've kissed him.

"Boone! You seen Claire?" Charlie called, noticing him there.

"She's about half a mile back that way," Boone panted. "She's in labour. I'm going to get Jack. Go make sure she's okay." He suddenly dove into the bag he'd been carrying. "Take this," he called, chucking the bewildered Briton a bottle of water. "You're going to need it more than me."

And he took off, his entire body shaking just from the sheer energy he was putting into running. He'd not run this fast since he was a kid, and even then he'd only been competing in the hundred meters, and even _then _he'd been crap at it. Nothing had really motivated him, and his efforts had exasperated his coach over and over again until he'd eventually had to admit he was never going to be good at it.

More than relieved to see a glimpse of sand out of the corner of his eyes, Boone pushed himself forwards and was met with another fortuitous piece of luck. Jack was by the water trough and, even more fortuitously, he wasn't surrounded by people. Boone made the cross sign, though he wasn't religious at all, and ran over towards Jack.

"Jack!" he panted, stumbling gracelessly to a halt.

"Boone, are you okay?" Jack asked, looking concerned.

"Claire…. Baby…" Boone made a few barely intelligible signs. "Now!"

Jack got the message instantly, which was yet another piece of luck.

"Okay, I'm just going to get some towels and water," he said, racing into life. "Who's with her now?"

"Charlie," Boone reported.

"Good. He'll keep her calm," Jack muttered, mostly to himself.

Boone trotted alongside Jack, sweating heavily, a fact which wasn't helped by the fact that the sun was high up in the sky. He watched as Jack assembled what had to be a birthing kit for the poor, nonetheless impressed by the doctor's speed and the ability to know instinctively what to look for.

Then, after a few minutes, Jack told him to lead the way and they were plunging into the jungle again, the major advantage behind this being it sheltered Boone from the heat a little.

All the same, this wasn't exactly how he imagine spending the afternoon: leading Jack to where a Claire in labour awaited.

* * *

With a vicious swiping gesture, Ana cut her way through the clearing, her eyes narrowed as she paused for a moment, taking in the scenery before her. She listened carefully, every hair on her body standing to attention, and then marginally relaxed when she heard nothing out of the ordinary.

"Okay, guys, take five," she told the weary group.

With a grunt of relief, she allowed herself to sit down for a few moments, the cool shrubbery around her feeling instantly refreshing. To her surprise, Libby came to join her, wordlessly passing her a bottle of water which she immediately accepted, surprised by how thirsty she was.

"Where are we going, Ana?" Libby asked, the blunt question taking Ana by surprise.

"How do you mean?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, detecting the faintest trace of mutiny.

"We've been walking for days. Weeks, probably. I just wondered if there was an endgame in mind," Libby explained, wiping her head with the back of her hand, clearly also suffering from the heat.

"Surviving is the endgame," Ana replied darkly, letting some of the water spill into her hands so she could splash it onto her face. "If you've got a better plan, do tell 'cause, frankly, I'm out of ideas."

Libby stared at her, the faintest traces of pity in her eyes. But, sensing Ana didn't do pity, she cleared whatever it was she'd been thinking from her mind and averted her stare to the other survivors, most of whom were on their last legs.

"We can't keep running, Ana," she said eventually. "We need somewhere to stay permanently, until we get rescued."

"Rescue?" The word felt foreign on Ana's tongue. "If I knew a safe place, Libby, do you really think I'd be making you walk aimlessly around the jungle all day?"

"Well, no," Libby conceded. "We're just exhausted, Ana. We need longer breaks, otherwise some of us are going to fall behind, and you know the importance of sticking together."

Ana inclined her head briefly, not willing to admit Libby had a point. Truthfully, she was tired of running too, especially when they had no real clue as to what the enemy even looked like. But her stomach twisted at the thought of the fact that the children she promised to send home to their mommy were gone. It was yet another broken promise to add to the ever growing list.

"We'll figure out something soon, okay?" she told Libby, giving her a weary smile. "For now, all we can do is keep moving. If we make it hard for them to track us, we'll be fine."

"Okay," Libby said, her tone suggesting she wasn't done with this conversation. "Don't kill yourself trying to save us, Ana. We work together or not at all."

"That's a stupid motto to live by," Ana pointed out, giving an ironic chuckle. "I work best by myself."

"I know." Libby gave her a sad smile. "That's your problem." She gave a deep sigh. "We all care about you, Ana."

"Bull shit," Ana mumbled. "I see the way you all look at me."

"We're worried, that's all," Libby countered patiently. "We are not your enemies, Ana. You need to stop treating us like we are."

"I know, I know…" Ana groaned as she rose to her feet. "I need some air."

She stumbled off, leaving Libby to stare bewilderingly after her. It wasn't that she didn't like Libby. She did. But she didn't see the point of making friends here. Her motto in life had always been kill or be killed and that hadn't changed. She saw no reason for changing anything about herself just because the circumstances she was in were less than fortunate.

Taking the time to stretch out, she had to admit Libby had a point. They were stumbling around like they were lost - which, to an extent, they were - and so they might as well have been sitting ducks. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt lonely, like she was on one side of a glass window looking in at a life she could never have. Okay, it was sounding like she was _yearning_, when really all she was doing was regretting. She had no desire to be loved. In the end, everything came crashing down on you anyway, so why bother fighting for what you loved?

Still, it wasn't like she'd never had a piece of happiness before. Maybe that was what made it all worse: she'd had happiness and it had run away screaming in the opposite direction.

"_Yo, Danny, you home?" Ana called, shrugging off her jacket as she walked inside the apartment. _

_It wasn't much, but it was home. Everywhere reeked of conventionality. In the living room, there were scattered newspapers around, and old TV guides dating from up to a month ago. The television wasn't expensive, yet wasn't too shabby, and underneath it was the VCR where they recorded their favourite shows. Ana loved cop shows. Danny often teased her that she only watched them to get tips, but what she loved most about them was it straight to the point, with no romance, nothing that would have her reaching for a paper bag. Danny, likewise, would record sporting events, and even the odd Friends episode, which she would tease him about, saying he only watched it because the chicks in it happened to be really hot. Mega hot. _

"_Is my baby home already?" Danny called from the kitchen. "Damn. I wanted to surprise you."_

"_I hate surprises," she said flatly, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh. "You know that. That's why when you propose I want to know about it in advance. Like three weeks in advance."_

"_Propose?" He popped his head out of the kitchen, raising his dark eyebrows in her direction. "I thought we agreed we weren't the marrying type."_

"_I know," Ana conceded. "I hate the whole institution of marriage. That's why if you do propose, I want to know about it first so I can kick your ass and talk you out of it."_

_Danny grinned. "That's my girl."_

_Ana followed him into the kitchen, smelling spaghetti in the air. She made a face, trying to act like she couldn't give a damn that he was cooking - which, for him, was a massive deal - but her eyes were about a thousand watts brighter than normal._

"_Spaghetti. That's refreshing," she snorted, secretly slipping her arms around him. "Thanks, Danny."_

_He grinned, turning his head so he could press her lips against her forehead. _

"_No problem, kid."_

"_I ain't a kid," she growled, punching him in the arm. _

"_Ooh, what you gonna do? Read me my rights?" Danny asked slyly. _

"_Nope. Although what I have in mind for later does involve handcuffs," she admitted, laughing at his expression. "Think I'd bring my work home with me, Danny? Doubtful. My mother would never allow it."_

"_Spaghetti's done," Danny announced._

_She peered critically into the saucepan. _

"_Nope." She shook her head. "I'd give it at least two more minutes."_

"_Why must you rain on my parade, Cortez?" _

"_Cause if I didn't, you'd end up poisoning my food, Mills," she retorted, grabbing the spoon off of him. "Honestly. I'm glad you gave up that dream of yours to be a chef. You'd be responsible for the greatest mass murder since…. I dunno, wars began."_

"_Nice analogy," he commented, digging an elbow into her ribs. "Glad you didn't get into history or politics. You'd have us all at war with each other within five minutes."_

"_Damn straight," Ana agreed. "What's life without a little drama?"_

_She'd later come to regret that sentence. It would be drama that would dictate her life, drama which would mean her walls would be permanently, meaning no one could ever break through again, not even herself. For the moment, however, she enjoyed having a fairly drama-free life, laughing as Danny stirred the spaghetti so vigorously some of it spattered onto his face. _

She sighed heavily, wondering if whether happiness could be found once it'd been lost. Danny had once been the love of her life. Was he perfect? No. He'd been stubborn, set in his ways, and barely lifted a hand to help around the house except when she nagged him too. There were other differences they couldn't iron out too, like the fact he was often helpless as to how to act around her when something upset her. His frustrations would turn into anger and he'd eventually storm out. Their tempers clashed a lot, so it'd only been a matter of time before he'd stormed out for good.

The yearning for that old life soon turned into irritation at allowing herself to reminisce. Angrily, Ana kicked out, startling a bird which had perched by her feet inquisitively.

And she put aside her hopes forever, realizing some things weren't ever meant to be fixed, her heart being one of them.

* * *

Boone raced ahead, surprised that even whilst panicking he could remember the way back to Claire. They made it in five minutes flat, with Jack overtaking him at the last minute having heard Claire's moans and gasps of intense pain.

"Jack!" Charlie stood up, relieved to see him. "You took your time."

"Just fetching the necessary equipment," Jack said, kneeling down and looking directly into Claire's eyes. "Claire. You know what's happening right?"

"Stomach cramps," she gasped. "Bad stomach cramps."

"You're in labour," he told her gently. "Don't stress yourself out. Keep yourself perfectly calm. We'll get through this together."

Claire's eyes rolled to Charlie. "Can he stay with me?"

Boone had never felt more like the third wheel in his entire life. He felt, as childish as it sounded, like he was intruding in a family moment. Awkwardly, he muttered something about going back to the beach, but sensed no one was even paying attention to him.

Not that he'd wanted to stay and watch Claire give birth. It just would've been nice if someone had asked him to stay for support. Then again, he was quickly getting used to being brushed aside like a child.

Without another word, he began the trek back to the beach, his mood one of dejection. The only thing he really had going for him now was the raft, and even then the company on board weren't exactly what he'd call close friends. How he was going to survive being in close contact with Sawyer was a complete mystery.

"Boone!"

He sighed, wishing Shannon would leave him alone. He knew what she was going to yell at him about now. He'd been expecting it ever since he'd joined up on the raft expedition. The fact she'd not found him sooner was a sheer miracle, and for once he had to be thankful for the distraction that was Sayid.

"Is it true?" Shannon asked, her voice unusually thick, as if she'd been crying, which he found hard to believe giving her cold nature. "Are you going on the raft when it launches tomorrow?"

"Yes," Boone replied, holding his head high. "This is what being useful entails, Shannon."

"You didn't build the damn thing. Why are you going on it?" Shannon demanded, pushing him a little. "Stop trying to get involved, Boone! You're more pathetic than a child trying to find his clique at school."

"Shut up," Boone snarled. "As if you know anything about helping out! You're first plan of action when we crashed here was to paint your nails!"

"I thought the rescue boat was on its way!"

"So you thought you'd make yourself look good for the rescue team," Boone snorted. "Typical Shannon behaviour really. I don't know why I bother defending you. You've about as much heart as a rock."

Shannon glared at him, her eyes glistening with tears he couldn't understand the reason behind.

"You could die you know," she informed him, her voice haughty. "All those things you told Michael were a lie. You just wanted to get on board to be involved. Which means you're going to die at sea seeing as though you have no experience being in it!"

"Is that what this is about?" Boone was incredulous. "You're worried about me? Is that what you're doing here? Trying to pick a fight to make tomorrow easier?"

"Pfft. As if," Shannon snorted. "Do what you want. I don't care." He couldn't help smiling.

"You're deflecting, Shan."

"And you're being pathetic."

"Is this the way you want to leave things?" he asked coyly. "Like you said, I could die tomorrow?"

"Alright, I give a damn, okay?" Shannon yelled, her face red with anger. "Isn't it kind of obvious? You're my _brother_."

Boone's face fell. She'd always been good at slipping a knife in her words, something that really stung when he detected it. The emphasis on their relationship made it abundantly clear she would never be interested in him that way. What she was essentially saying was that she cared, but not like that.

"I've got to, er, do some more packing," he told her bluntly, pushing past her. "I'm sure Sayid's probably waiting for you."

He thought he heard her sighing and almost turned back. But he knew he had to let her go. This obsession would end up killing them both. But the harder he tried to ignore her, the more frequently she popped up inside his mind. It was actually becoming an inconvenience now; he felt like one of those men who after a bad break up saw their ex-girlfriend everywhere.

He brushed aside Shannon from his thoughts. She had Sayid to cater to her every whim now. Time to move on.

As he found his way back to the beach, Boone stared out at the ocean. Night was falling rapidly and tomorrow was the dawn of a new day. No matter what happened tomorrow, at least he had something to do now, a purpose. He was sick of being everyone's second - no, not even that, third - choice. He had muscles - sort of - and was intelligent.

Well, tomorrow, he was going to prove his worth once and for all. And not even the knot of fear of facing the open ocean tomorrow could quench that determination.

**A/n: Okay, next chapter involves Ana and Boone meeting for the first time. Just had to build up to the moment. Enjoy this rather unique pairing, although one of my friend's informs me there's another amazing Ana/Boone story on here by Warrior_Princess922, so search that one out if you can. :) Sorry it's taken me a while to update this. Real life - and shamefully other stories - have taken me away, but I'll try and update when I can :)**


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